Post by 𝗖𝗢𝗥𝗘𝗬 𝗕𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗞 on Mar 7, 2021 13:14:55 GMT -5
CRASH!
A loud thud echoes through the darkness, causing a yelp and a light to come on. Splayed out on his living room floor is Corey Black, rain pounding against the floor to ceiling windows that overlook Minneapolis, Minnesota. Taylor is in a chair beside the couch Corey fell from, previously curled up with a blanket but now standing up with her hand on the pull string of a lamp. Corey groans as he sits up off the floor.
"Jesus, are you okay?" Taylor nervously asks. "I know it's been a rough go but come on."
Corey's hand reaches for his head, he pats the back and looks at his fingers. "No blood," he responds. "I'll be fine."
The clock on the wall shows the time as 3:02am, Taylor glancing over at it and becoming a little frustrated. "Corey, look. This isn't you." She points to the kitchen which is a mess, the living room is unkempt and Corey himself is wearing a dirty hoodie. "You've been beat before and never once took it this hard."
Leaning back on the couch and peering into the city, Corey reflects. "It's not the losing, Taylor, it's the way it's done. I can handle a person beating me in a fight. I cannot stand for the way Ash Blake has won and kept the World Title."
"So focus on Downfall and get into the Chamber."
"Is it that easy? Downfall is no more honorable than Philidor is. Not to mention.. he's.."
"Beat her?" Taylor cuts Corey off. "He climbed out of a door Corey, he didn't overcome the odds, the didn't beat her, he escaped and got a belt for it."
"And he has kept it."
"Gosh, remember what he said to you? Your Hardcore Title reign meant nothing because you defended against the likes of OG Bishop, may his soul rest. Look at his. Matches against Power Perez, Dion, James Matthews, Lazer Johnson, Darren Marsh, Noris Cranley.. Claire Hawkins was his first actual challenge. Corey, this isn't you. You'd usually love to smash guys like this."
He continues to stare out the window. Lightning crashes in the distance.
"I think I need a minute," Corey says as he begins standing up and walking toward the door.
"Excuse me? It's the middle of the night!" Taylor pleads, but Corey slips his black Chuck Taylors on and tosses a black hoodie over his Metallica t-shirt. His gray sweatpants bunch up at the bottom because of his shoes, but without even saying a word Corey unlocks his door and heads into the elevator. The doors slowly close, and as they do, Taylor sneaks her arm in to hand Corey his cell phone. A split second before the doors close her arm is pulled back, Corey now standing alone. He sighs, hits a button and the elevator begins descending down.
He reaches the ground floor of his building, an office skyscraper. He walks through the golden lobby to the door leading through to the garage, he walks in but none of these cars are his. Instead, Corey walks to the far wall and opens a hidden panel in one of the bricks, pressing his thumb down and opening a small slit, just enough for him to fit through. He slides in and closes the door behind him, the lights in the roof turning on one by one and revealing Corey's car fleet. There must be a dozen cars in here ranging from a Chrysler 300C to a Toyota Celica to a Lamborghini Aventador and more.
"All the king's horses.." he mumbles, running his hand across the Aventador, but he doesn't get in. He stops, eyes each vehicle and sighs again, heading back through the hidden door in the parking garage and walking through, out into the pouring rain. His phone buzzes, he pulls it out to check the message. Turns out there's a bunch.
From: J-Flynn
Dude you good? Taylor sent a message out saying you're taking things hard. Give me a call.
Dude you good? Taylor sent a message out saying you're taking things hard. Give me a call.
From: Vik No
Corey please phone message me back. Skal.
Corey please phone message me back. Skal.
From: Gun the Impailer
bro hit me back, we can chat about stuff
bro hit me back, we can chat about stuff
From: Taylor
I'm sorry. Wake me up when you get back and we can talk.
I'm sorry. Wake me up when you get back and we can talk.
"And all the king's men.." Corey mumbles again, as he puts the phone back in his pocket. The streets are bare at this time of night, the rain not helping. Corey walks a few blocks down and reaches the Burning Hammer Dojo, his wrestling facility. The lock on the door is unlocked by Corey's phone being tapped on it, he walks in and takes the hoodie off. Dripping wet, it slaps against the floor. The lights come on, revealing all the rings and work out equipment. Corey slides into a ring and hits the ropes. Then the other side. Back again. His face contorts, eyebrows furled, mouth arching downward.. back and forth back and forth, soon Corey begins yelling at the top of his lungs as he bounces off the ropes again and again until finally he collapses in the middle of the ring with a guttural bellow escaping his lungs.
The King sits up to his knees, breathing heavy and shaking his head. The glint off the lens of a camera catches his eye, Corey walks over and turns it on. The perspective from the camera is just the one ring, Corey walks back over and rolls in. He breathes in deep, getting a good look around the Dojo before focusing in on the lens.
"The story of Humpty Dumpty has been around since at least the late seventeen hundreds. Generally suggested to be the story of King Richard the third, a siege engine or a canon, it details in so few words complacency, demise and total collapse. Words that aren't usually used as ways to describe me. Yet here we are, I have sat upon my wall and I have indeed had a great fall. It's now time to pick up the pieces myself.
The unfortunate soul in my way of getting the pieces of my broken psyche back together is Downfall. Our proud Television Champion, a stout veteran of the sport and a man I once placed my hat upon as a guy I respected.
I respect the grind, the years put in, the clawing up from the glass and barbed wire to Action Wrestling. I respect the will to do anything it takes to get to the big dance. But once he got here, it all crumbled down.
The second Downfall joined the Lost Breed and locked fingers with James Nightingale - well, that showed us the kind of man Downfall truly is. I knew it all along but hoped shit had changed. People grow, people become better - Graham Baker wasn't a saint in his past, Frank has skeletons in his story, hell I've been known to do scummy stuff too. I'm older now, wiser. I play the game different, with a wealth of experience and knowledge to fuel every decision I make.
I put my name next to Walter's because the enemy of my enemy is my friend - loosely, anyway. More the enemy of my enemy is my tag partner for one night. James Nightingale's actions the last few months haven't been met with anything from Downfall but a smile, nod and a 'yes sir.'
Swim with the sharks to clear your beach, right? For one night I get it. My beach was cleaner than it ever had been when Philidor was vanquished at XIII. Your beach, Downfall? Littered. Boiling with miscreants and shame. Your sharks aren't clearing anything, just inflicting pain and suffering. And for what? Some thinning the herd, exterminating the weak and making money bullshit B villain plot? Ticks all of Downfall's boxes. Coming from nothing and now having purpose, to destroy what others deem beautiful. Family, careers, enjoyment - shit none of you can really wrap your heads around because it doesn't involve slamming baseball bats in the heads of people or breaking arms. Put yourself in the other side's shoes, Downfall, how would you react if someone took out Serenity simply because you were the next target? Someone totally adjacent to wrestling, only associating with it anymore through you. An innocent victim only afflicted to make you hurt on the inside.
I'm not someone to fuck with, everyone involved is lucky Frank asked me to let him handle his business. If it were me? I'd have them strung up one by one by your balls and we'd pinata you until your organs spilled on the canvas.
Lucky for me, I now get to do just that.
Downfall is a guy from the bottom looking to make his name, finally, since joining the Lost Breed just made him nothing more than a faceless bitch in a Tim Burton subreddit moderator's crusade. That makes Downfall the dad that brought his kid to the Nine Inch Nails concert but he stands at the bar and tries to hit on the bartender who clearly couldn't give a shit about his war stories or TV Title.
Fuckin' respect, God it's a fickle idea. Downfall grasped any respect he may have had and shoved it up his own ass like the coke in Chicago's Mayor. And this guy just goes with it because about six percent of their ideals match up with his own.
I'm sure he's been told this ninety nine times but allow me to be number one hundred; Downfall, you truly are the bottom in this prison sentence waiting to happen. You sit by idle, taking command, not because it's what you want to do - because that's what you're fucking programmed to do. I'd be hard pressed to even say you're above it all - you're not. You're a drone. Always have been, just this time, that guiding light has a name. Before the path you led was for recognition of the wear and tear. You hardly got that.
I gave it to you.
You spat on it.
I shouldn't have been surprised, that's what happens when you're - well, me. Downfall isn't the first, he won't be the last. It just stings that much more coming from a kindred spirit. A guy that should reciprocate that respect, yet since my status exceeds his, he throws barbs about taking it easy, surrounding myself with men to take the fall and go on my merry way.
I'm sorry you feel that way, Downfall, but just because you're a dumpy dipshit that never actually seized an opportunity to better yourself and you look at me, seeing a golden God floating through the air and not even having to walk, doesn't mean you get to project your insecurities onto me.
So here I am, spitting on everything you think you deserve. A spot at the table with me, a spot in the ring. You're below me, Downfall, it's no hidden secret. Holding the Television Title for months doesn't automatically create a resume lengthy and acclaimed enough to stand up to someone of my stature. You were gifted this position and you look the horse in the face and tell it to dance. You cannot admit that you're in over your head at any time, even when looking up at three Man Made Gods, I can only imagine you're looking to kill one at Clash.
It's going to take a whole lot more than you. Than the Lost Breed. Than Philidor.
I lay broken on the floor, Downfall, looking at my shattered present and I see a past that stacks higher than yours. A future that stacks higher than yours. And this fragmented present still shines brighter than anything you've ever done.
Now, look at me. In my fucking eyes, Daniel. These are the eyes of a man that had been wronged. You'll say I was outplayed because it's in your nature to take any avenue to the top you can but in this world, in that ring, when you're up against the King - well, you can't take my crown with a Marcus Brutus knife in the back. Ettu, Downfall? Are you going to be man enough to stand toe to toe with the very best that will ever do this? Can you withstand the onslaught? In your withered state, your broken down and beaten body that needs more and more ice by the match?
You're not fit enough to lock horns with this mythical beast unleashed.
Since your debut in Action Wrestling you've never been in this kind of position. One match away from challenging for the biggest prize on one of our grandest stages against someone at the very top.. it would be too on the nose for me to say you're not ready. That feels different, I can say that to Ash Blake because that's true - but you, you have the road map, you have the miles, you ARE ready. Excuse me, you SHOULD BE ready. It's too bad your current journey to make your daddy proud ends with an elbow through your bitch ass head. After Clash, you'll see your feet will never be big enough to fill those shoes. Your hands will never be big enough to grapple with greatness and your mouth will always be too big for the checks your body will need to cash.
In some ways my time the last year has been similar to yours - I was drawn back to the ring because of snot nosed punks running their mouths about how the old timers in this business are about to expire, it's the new kids' time, yadda yadda. You know the tropes they say, you've lived it. It isn't often a couple of men with deep history have the chance to settle business inside the ropes. I'm not here for a friendly exhibition, something tells me you aren't either. I'm not even here for your title, it would be very Teo Blaze of me to lean on these ropes and lament about how you aren't defending it against me - there's more at stake than that. The reign you're so proud of is safe for one more week but this fairy tale ride to the top of the mountain comes crashing down the jagged cliffs. Back to Chicago where you can lick your wounds with those around you and ready for another 'yes sir' type of 'not a foot soldier' plan your figurehead comes up with.
I hate to keep pouring salt in that wound but it would be like if I joined The Following and took direction from Kyle Kemp. No, see what I did was I scouted one of the best groups of talent and added my years of expertise, my killer instinct and made each of them World Champions. Here, I joined forces with one of my best friends in this business and we imparted our wisdom on the fastest rising superstar AW has had in recent memory. You, Downfall? You could do that. But you're a fucking beta.
You're a follower. You can scream through gritted teeth it's because of the money, but you and I both know your paychecks aren't bottom floor. You got a pill problem there, Downfall? A bunch of child support payments? Nah, your personality is just tough guy on the outside, scared little boy on the inside. You're in over your head in Action Wrestling, and I'm the foot keeping you under for that much longer. I'm that guy and I'm proud to do it.
You're not fit to challenge for the Action Wrestling World Championship because I don't deem you worthy. I'm the gavel wielding, deliberating axe bearer. The measuring stick you're too short to reach, this ride is for big kids only. Head back to the TV Title division and make that worth something, it worked so well for Howard Black and his mission to make the US TItle something more. Facts are facts, if you're not aiming for the top then you may as well join Revolution1. I'm sure that's a perfect fit for you, someone from Action Wrestling jumping ship and jerking their dicks over there, right where you belong, you gum flapping muppet.
'But Corey..' I'm sure you're saying to yourself, 'I am a valued member of not only the Lost Breed but this company!' Uh=huh, if you fucked back off to whatever gymnasium skate park, rinky dink five dollar, a hot dog and a high five place you came from, the world would look at the article announcing your removal, say to themselves 'oh' and then go straight back to Action Wrestling's website to purchase my action figure.
Me, though? Parades, jet fly overs, shutting down an entire city to celebrate my contributions.
You and I, we're similar Downfall but at the end of the day we are vastly different. We have a different perspective. I fought from the bottom for one year. I did the small show, getting my feet wet shit for three hundred and sixty five days. You've done it for two decades. When I got my big break on a national stage, it took me four weeks to win my first title and I haven't looked back since. The entire tie you have been scratching and clawing for the adoration and attention from a company like this, I have been main eventing and traveling the world taking in every culture known to mankind.
I don't say that in vein, to show off or brag about what I have done. I say that to tell you that while you and I had a similar path to where we are now, one of us is the tortoise and the other is Corey fucking Black. Without me your career path would have you still crawling up from the gutters. I helped build this entire existence and I'll be damned if I let Philidor or Downfall push me off my wall."
Corey drops to the mat and rolls underneath the ropes, dangling his legs off the apron as he leans back. He chuckles to himself, looking up at the clock.
"Look at me. It's almost four in the morning and here I am, the ring is my safe space. It was violated at Revolution and Battlefield. Do you know what that is like, Downfall? To have something you care so much for and for someone to just piss all over it simply because they are willing to do whatever it takes? Of course you don't, you're usually the one with your dick out.
Whatever floats your boat."
The King hops off the apron and walks over to the camera, his face the only thing in frame now.
"Throughout my career I've been called many things. The Avenger, Jomsviking, I've wrestled under hoods in other countries and even here to hide the fact that I am who I am. Fact is, I'm all of those things and more. At Clash, Downfall, I come to make a statement. I am not complacent. I am not crashing down to Earth and shattering.
I am the king whose horses and men puts people back together again.
I am also the king that tears people apart, ripping heads from shoulders.
Who are you in my story, Downfall?
Who the fuck even are you in your own?
You're a bit player in your own movie, the narrative is happening all around you but you're not influencing any of it. A real actor, ironic given your disdain for Kidsgrove, but he is the perfect parallel. Your script is being written for you and you're not changing any of the lines. You're barely doing any of your own stunts anymore.
When award season comes around, the academy aren't going to even consider your contributions. You're a novelty, an extra that only gets credited because he barked too much and the director finally got sick of hearing about it. 'Fine, Downfall, have your name in lights.'
Next to The King of All Wrestlers.
Beat that box office smash, that blockbuster with your black and white indie film. It has heart, it has mettle, it can't live up to the hype that I generate.
Maybe you'll get an art house showing. Three day run, five bucks at noon to see the movie nobody is talking about, 'Downfall and the Haphazard Life He Lives.'
I'm not even busy and noon and I could give a fuck."
Corey's hand reaches up and over the camera, stopping the recording. He walks over to his hoodie, grabs his phone and sees there's dozens of messages. Without even checking, he slides his phone back in his pocket and shuts the lights off to the Dojo, heading back into the freezing, pouring rain. The moon is peeking out somehow between the clouds, but it's hardly visible with all the light from the buildings in downtown Minneapolis. Corey walks along the sidewalk back to his building, where a doorman opens the glass door and nods. Through the lobby and to the elevator, Corey heads up and up and back into his apartment to find Taylor passed out once again in the chair.
But he doesn't wake her up.
No, Corey gingerly walks through the living room to his bedroom, where there on his computer screen is a live feed shot of his home in Norway. He clicks through to a couple of feeds, the videos all in black and white, but he can still see in the bowels of the castle his men there in the ring, running drills.
"Don't let them get deeper in your head," a voice says from the doorway.
Corey looks to his fight, taking his eyes from the screen to the door to find Taylor wrapped up in the blanket and leaning her head on the doorway. "I told you to wake me up when you got back."
"When have I ever done anything someone told me to do?" snaps Corey, standing up from his desk.
"Never," responds Taylor, "and maybe you should start. You good?"
"I will be," Corey says, walking over to the bed. He sits down, Taylor comes over and flops into her spot nearly passing out again right there.
"I will be when this shit is over," Corey says, rolling over.
"It'll never be over, not really. People are too dumb and stubborn to change, all you can do is outlast them," Taylor says toward the wall, not even rolling to talk to Corey directly. "You've done pretty good at that already."
He doesn't respond but her words resonate.